Visually Symmetrical
by Ly Merrick
Summary: AU in which Rachel Berry is a pop star making a music video, and she meets a dancer on set that causes a surprising reaction, one Santana Lopez. (one shot, smut)


**Pairing:** Rachel/Santana

**Title:** Visual Symmetry

**Synopsis**: _AU_ in which Rachel Berry is a pop star whose career has spanned almost 10 years and five albums. She's in the process of making a video when she meets a background dancer she just can't shake. (ONE SHOT)

###

The collective energy on set was hectic. The director was discussing semantics with some of the background people while the makeup artists touched Rachel's face up. The set was _hot. _The video was meant to be that kind of sweaty, grinding video where it was a step away from porn – set to Rachel's newest single. Mind you, she wasn't grinding on anyone specific since it was a whole big group number they'd created, and most of the dancers were really polite. Many of the backup dancers were completely professional; the men were mostly gay and the women were just there to show that female dancers could own whatever stage they stepped on.

It was mostly the female dancers she was interested in, anyway. Nobody really knew it, but it wouldn't have blown anyone out of the water. Rachel was a professional though. She never crossed lines with anyone she worked with, because in Hollywood there were no secrets.

She felt kind of sticky and tried to ignore it, because after all, a little damp hair stuck to her forehead would add to the sex appeal…probably. She adjusted a little, heard various instructions called out for a quiet set. Adrenaline was like a little kick to her awareness, because the beat started and she felt herself moving with it. The choreography was flawless, and everything was on point until she felt a tingling up her thigh.

One of the female dancers (who was sincerely just following the choreography) had ignited some kind of reaction. Her thigh and anywhere else the dancer was supposed to touch erupted in goosebumps. It was a thrill to her system and Rachel followed the choreography step-by-step, but found her eyes directing themselves at that dancer. She was a tall Dancer with long black hair and a gaze that could pin Rachel to the wall, and she was smirking at the pop star.

The next few minutes were all heat and choreography, but Rachel was amiss to find out that it just so happened this Dancer was the dancer she had to interact with most. At some point the strobe lights were turned on, and the scene was all hot bodies, but it was this dancer that captivated Rachel. The taller girl had wrapped her hand around the back of Rachel's neck and tugged their hips together; the choreography called for it, but Rachel's hands were clutching a little harder than necessary as the Dancer's head dipped closer to her own.

The director called cut, clapped his hands together loudly, and Rachel found herself winded and sweatier than before. An intern dashed on set as the dancers broke and headed backstage to change into the outfits for the next scene, dabbing at Rachel's forehead and fixing her makeup.

"You look flushed, sweetie, you alright?" The intern, a nice, dark-skinned gay boy, stepped back for a second to examine her makeup.

"The heat on set," Rachel excused, giving a sincerely apologetic grin.

"I know. It's a nightmare for keeping your makeup on," he rolled his eyes, sighing. "Your dancing is on _point, _baby girl."

"Thanks," Rachel laughed a little bashfully. "I haven't tripped over anyone yet."

"And to think they said you weren't a good dancer," the intern winked at her before heading back off set. Rachel stepped off the stage and had a seat as the scenery was changed around. The director, a bit of a skeevy dude if Rachel really thought about it, leaned over and began speaking to her. She didn't realize it until he tapped her on the shoulder.

"Did you hear me?"

"What? I'm sorry," Rachel brushed her hair away from her eyes, chewed on the inside of her cheek as she focused on the director.

"That dance, the choreography with that female dancer – we want more of that."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's gonna get a shit-ton of views on VEVO. It's great for marketing."

"Oh. Of course."

Sometimes being a pop star was a double-edged sword. She really didn't want to get all hot and bothered again but there wasn't any getting around it. The director was the creative head of the video; his direction would make or break the video. Subsequently, it was good for an album to have that one video everyone talked about.

###

When Rachel had made her first music video, she was 17 and at that age where videos couldn't cross that line. Now she was crossing that line daily, both in her music and in the corresponding videos. There was something empowering about being a sexual icon, because all she had to do was think hot and sweaty thoughts and the audience would swoon. This video was the epitome of that – it was about females empowering themselves as sexual beings, taking power over the industry's ability to exploit women. Granted, the director was a man but nothing happened without Rachel's consent. If she had said she didn't like something about the video they were working on, they'd go in a different direction with it.

Background dancers were about visual symmetry. That's what she'd been told when she was younger and just starting out her career. They acted and reacted to the energy Rachel gave off, and this dancer was really a natural at reacting. However, in the break between scene changes, Rachel had to hunt the girl down and let her know what the director had said.

She found her in the back, lounging on one of the couches with a couple of the gay boy dancers, laughing and sipping at a Coke. Most of the dancers – while they had been rehearsing with Rachel – still had that moment of shock when the pop star walked in the room. Some of them gasped, there were wondering murmurs, and Rachel offered a plaintive smile. "Hey," she gave a little wave before glancing at the Dancer, who was eyeing her with a mixture of awe and nervousness. "You," she pointed at the Dancer before she motioned for her to follow. It was a small, coy gesture.

"Uh," the girl spoke, hesitating before getting up and following Rachel. The Dancer closed the door separating the hall and the little pseudo-lounge the dancers had. "What's up?"

"I don't know your name," Rachel spoke simply, looking up at the girl and truly noticing their height difference. It was small, but noticeable.

"Santana Lopez," an arched eyebrow added to the tone of confusion.

"Rachel," reaching a hand forward, Rachel glanced down as if to say, 'well come on, shake my hand!' She felt like a high-school kid for some reason. A little geeky. Who shook hands like this anymore?

"I know who you are, obviously," Santana reached forward, cautiously as if expecting trouble of some sort, "Am I in trouble?" Her handshake was firm but hesitant.

Rachel laughed a little as she let go of Santana's hand. "No, it's something the director wanted to convey. He thinks that more of the choreography – uhm, like the scene we just shot, that … that would make the video better. So I just wanted to see what you thought."

"I mean – you're technically signing my paycheck. Kinda. So…whatever you want."

Rachel smiled a little bit, her eyes narrowed just slightly in a sort of playful curiosity, "I know, I just, want to make sure you're comfortable with it."

Santana let out a husky, low-throated chuckle, smirking and covering her mouth immediately afterward. "Basically the most famous pop star I've ever met is asking if I'm okay with grinding up on her," she stated all this in a kind of bewildered, ironic way. She seemed to retain her professionalism after that, shaking her head a bit and biting her bottom lip, "Yeah. I'm okay with that."

"Good," Rachel smiled. This dancer was _really _attractive. She reminded Rachel of one of the Fly Girls from _In Living Color _and there was just something, … something unshakeable about her. So Rachel tried to retain her own professionalism. "So, the next scene, maybe use the choreography as a sort of 'bare bones' and … go with the flow?"

Santana nodded, smirking still. "Yeah. It's good to meet you, Rachel," the way she said Rachel's name was a sort of growling intonation.

_Gulp. _Rachel found herself blushing a little. She was supposed to be less affected by suave people like this. She was famous, and wanted by men and women alike, so she'd had quite a lot of flirtation (professionally and otherwise) but it had been a while since anyone actually gave her that crawling heat that burrowed under her skin. "Right, you too."

So she tried to keep her cool and save face by politely making her exit. She headed to wardrobe, trying to remember exactly what the choreography was up next because she was damned if she could remember anything after talking with Santana.

###

Place hot pop star in a big crowd, put a spot-light on her, play track. Classic formula for any music video scene, and right now that's what they were doing. The dancers were spread in various clusters and there was just a single male dancer behind her, but in front of her was Santana. The track played over the speakers and for just a moment it really felt like she was in a hot, overcrowded nightclub. She kind of forgot who she was for a second, because at some point Santana had slipped her hands around Rachel's waist and tugged her closer, mimicking their earlier encounter. Rachel had to remind herself that it was all (mostly) choreographed, because she swooned a little when she felt a warm breath by her ear.

Turn actress-mode on, that's what she had to do. So she did, and she confidently wrapped an arm around Santana's neck and moved with her. She forgot about the male dancer behind her, felt the thudding music system playing over the speakers, watched the bright lights bleed together, and found herself looking into a pair of very lucid brown eyes. Santana's lips were parted slightly as they moved together – she looked flushed and breathless, too – and her eyes were impossibly dark.

Rachel's heart was picking up its pace, because their faces were hovering dangerously close but _God _she had to try to keep this professional. She almost forgot they were shooting, until she felt the male dancer behind her momentarily.

Still, her eyes were drawn to Santana's and for the life of her she couldn't look away. This music video could've bombed and she probably wouldn't have cared because this was the most, _ahem, _fun she'd had on a shoot in a long time. Her hair was a little damp with sweat and she realized Santana was dipping down just a little in front of Rachel. Playing up the scene, probably. Probably.

It didn't matter. Rachel felt fingernails over her stomach and she felt her skin erupt in goosebumps again. She had to catch her breath when Santana's eyes locked on hers and it was hard to keep moving when Rachel was shaking all over. Luckily, Santana came back up almost as quickly and wrapped her arms around Rachel.

The director interrupted for just a moment, "Camera!" It was his direction for Rachel to focus on the camera.

That was so hard to do right now. Santana accommodated for the action, always the professional, by dipping her own head out of view and on the side of Rachel's. Her warm breath was still there, on Rachel's shoulder, as Rachel focused on the lens for just a moment. Her mind, however, was elsewhere. In a bed, bare-skinned, with this no-name dancer. No, she had a name. Santana. It was a perfect name.

###

The day ended _late. _After shooting two full scenes for the video, they were one more scene away from finishing the shoot. Then the editors would take their turn and put it all together so it made one cohesive video.

Rachel left the set still whirling from that damn dancer. There was something … carnal about the reaction she had to Santana. And it wasn't limited just to the dance scenes. There was an undeniable chemistry even passing each other in the halls or headed to different departments. A couple times, she swore Santana was smirking when they passed each other. Santana had a predatory vibe about her and it made Rachel feel _normal _for once.

She was always surrounded by admirers, but nobody ever really reached inside her and tried to pull anything real out. Somehow, she felt that's what Santana was trying to do – reach and pull something real, raw, and know Rachel for _Rachel, _not the simulated pop star her managers touted her as.

It made Rachel bashful. They ran into each other one last time before they wrapped for the night, and Rachel had felt shy as she said a tired, passing "goodnight." That was weird.

When she fell asleep that night in her hotel room, she fell asleep recalling that sort of perfume Santana gave off when they'd been shooting together.

###

Morning came a little too early, and as Rachel was awoken by a too-chipper makeup artist, she tried not to think about the work she had to put in today. It was 4 a.m. Starbucks was all but shoved into her hand and she didn't even really remember changing clothes but by the time the caffeine had done anything to her senses, she was dressed and her makeup was done. She climbed into the car about two hours after waking up, her makeup artist chatting with a couple others in the car with them. There was always a posse, as if pop stars needed constant maintenance.

The dancers had just arrived for the day as well, and a sleepy Rachel passed them all in the hall. She was fine until she heard that familiar chuckle and looked behind her to see Santana chatting with some of the other dancers. She caught that gaze and furrowed her brow, trying not to react too much. She had to be professional but this damn dancer had her dreaming feverish things – even while awake.

Most of today's choreography called for Rachel by herself, but there were a couple scenarios in which she had to interact with none other than Santana. Those were the last shots of the day, however, so Rachel spent most of the time blissfully unaware of the clusterfuck of reactions and emotions she'd have to once again being between Santana and someone she barely noticed.

The Dancer mostly just had to interact with Rachel as she sang. There was to be connecting of eyes, on-screen flirtation through the song, and Rachel was just not ready for it by the time it happened. First of all, Santana strode on set in short black shorts and a low-cut white top. Right, she'd seen it in the wardrobe but seeing all that tan cleavage and those long, long legs was almost too much. She didn't ogle the dancer, but Santana looked really, really good. Rachel watched as Santana squared up and got ready for action, and Rachel struck her pose as the beat started.

The choreography called for more from Rachel than from Santana. When Rachel danced, she felt powerful, and she felt that magnetic gaze on her even as her hips moved to the beat. (She'd studied several forms of dance for this video, including belly-dancing.) She felt completely in control of her sexuality, her image, and after all that's what this video was about.

_She _demanded attention, as she would on the screen. And as she turned, drawing Santana and the male dancer to her, she grasped Santana's hand (comparatively soft against the male dancer's hand). She felt a responding clutch, and smirked as she sang the bits of song that played. A wide, seductive grin came from somewhere deep inside as she met Santana's eyes and she felt her own appeal.

The Dancer responded with a flushed face and a slow smile as they moved together.

It was the culmination of the whole video, but there was something erotic about having the power in this very moment, because she knew she had power over Santana. The Dancer wasn't just doing the choreography – she was admiring Rachel, her curves, her body, everything about her. Those warm, delicate hands were tracing over her side and she forgot herself for just a minute.

By the time the director called cut, she knew she'd at least get Santana's number.

###

Her phone rang the next day, when she was sipping her morning coffee and thanking whatever powers that existed that she actually had a day to rest. All the choreography and the practice leading up to it, all the work of putting together a really intense video had worn her body out. She answered the phone without checking the caller i.d., a little sleepy still and stifling a yawn.

"Morning, sunshine," a familiar voice spoke, but it took Rachel a second to process that Santana was calling her. They'd exchanged numbers as if it was a casual exchange but both of them knew there was something electric between them.

"Hello yourself, Santana Lopez," Rachel had broken into a grin.

"I have a question, and I'm just gonna be straight with you," Santana didn't take time to transition into anything, apparently. "Are you into women?"

"What do you think?"

"Don't answer a question with a question."

"I can't trust anyone in this industry," Rachel answered a little defensively, "so let me be straight with you and say that if you let anything between us leak, I'll have your career in my back pocket."

"Assertive," Santana seemed to be chuckling on the other line. "I'm no snitch."

"I'm into some women."

"Hmm."

"Why?" Rachel knew why.

"'Cause I've been doing nothing but thinking about how great it would be to pin you against a door or a wall or something."

Rachel gasped, audibly. She covered her mouth, as if Santana had spoken something unspeakable. Rachel's eyes fluttered shut, her skin burned a little, "Jesus. You're straight to the point about a lot of things."

"So when can I come over?"

"I don't normally – "

"I just wanna see you," Santana's voice went from predatory to soft. "I'll be a gentleman to start out with."

"I'll text you my address," Rachel breathed into the receiver, eyes still shut as her heart hammered. The image of Santana pinning her against anything made her tingle all over.

"Thought so."

"Don't be so smug."

###

When Santana arrived, Rachel didn't really know what to expect. She opened the door feeling as nervous as a high schooler on her first date. Only, they weren't going out anywhere. As Santana had put it, they were just going to 'hang out.'

The Dancer was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but something about her was so irresistible even in that.

"I don't know what we're doing," Rachel stated simply as she closed the door. "I don't even know you but –"

Santana's hands were around Rachel's waist and Rachel couldn't speak anymore because her lips were hovering over her own, "Shut up." Her voice was husky, seductive, playful.

Rachel felt their mouths connected, tasted the silky vanilla of Santana's chapstick. Her heart jumped into her throat and suddenly she felt as if she'd been reunited with a lover she'd been torn away from. They were kissing in a slow-burning way, and Rachel was trembling as far as she could tell. It was a bone-deep ache.

"I thought you were going to be a gentleman," Rachel breathed against Santana's lips. She felt teeth nip at her bottom lip and she drew in an audible breath.

"I'm sorry," Santana apologized before capturing Rachel in another heady kiss. There was something needy about it, something desperate and aching. Where did this ache come from, this reaction to Santana? She'd never known this girl before but something in her being was reacting strongly enough to make her dizzy, make her hurt, make her swoon.

Her heart hurt just a little, her brow furrowed as they continued to crash into one another's kisses.

"Who are you?"

"I don't know," Santana breathed against Rachel's mouth.

Suddenly there was bare skin and more desperate kisses. Rachel was glad she was back in her apartment instead of the hotel, because that meant she knew exactly where everything was and wouldn't get hurt by backing Santana in her room.

Her back collided with the door as they managed to make it to the bedroom. She was clawing at the fabric of Santana's shirt and pulling her own over her head the second the door clicked shut. Caught in the intensity of her emotion, she felt her vision blur and she pressed her mouth to Santana's as her thumb and index finger pinched an already hard nipple. Santana moaned into her mouth, causing something inside Rachel to break.

The shorter brunette felt Santana's hands press her own into the wood of the door, and suddenly the Dancer was assaulting Rachel's throat, sucking and biting oversensitive skin. This wasn't like Rachel, but there was something carnal, something primal in her that was reacting specifically to Santana.

She felt lips encircle her nipple, teeth grazing the aching skin. Her hips jarred outward just a little in response, and a hand fell heavily from the door as Santana grasped Rachel's hips and pushed her to the bed.

"We should talk about why we're reacting like this – " Rachel tried one last time before she was overcome with arousal. Santana's lips were on her stomach, kissing, caressing, worshipping the skin there. And then lower, and suddenly Rachel's hands were tangled in Santana's thick hair, her hips bucking and pressing and that _tongue … _

###

Rachel let the whole situation sink in as she woke up later that day next to an exhausted Santana. They'd made love to one another four times before they finally exhausted themselves, and even now all Rachel wanted to do was lean over that beautiful body and kiss all of it, catch Santana's lips in another swoon-worthy kiss.

"I think getting struck by lightning feels like this," Santana's voice was worn out, gravelly, and she was glowing with that cocky confidence that came when you _knew _you'd just blown someone's mind.

"Who are you?"

"Santana."

"Why do we – what…" Rachel couldn't find the words, so instead she traced Santana's lips with her fingers, then leaned in and kissed her again. There was a mixture of arousal and emotion, again. She felt Santana's hand twine gently in her hair.

Was this what an addiction felt like? That first high, is that what it felt like?

"Let's just go with it," Santana murmured against Rachel's mouth.

Why the fear of Santana disappearing? They barely _knew _each other and yet Rachel trembled at the thought of never seeing this woman again. Maybe that fear was in her eyes because as she pulled away, Santana's brow furrowed.

"You okay?"

Rachel nodded, pressed her lips to Santana's throat before tucking herself close, her body conforming to the shape of Santana's.

"Rachel," the way Santana said her name was a little bit like a prayer. Something soft and secret.

"Hmm?"

"I don't know who I am to you, but this hasn't happened before," she seemed to be struggling to find the words. "So let's just see where this goes, because you make me feel like I'm made of pure electricity, like … like any time I'm not touching you, I'm not alive."

Rachel smiled at the confession, pressed her mouth to Santana's skin and then kissed her possessively, desperately. Her thigh slid between Santana's and she topped her, "I'm not letting you go for quite some time. I need someone to play with."

And that was it, the agreement that whatever _this _was, it wasn't a one-time thing.


End file.
